Winter's Farewell

🇨​​🇭​​🇦​​🇵​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​ 𝟏₁

Claire always said the kitchen was her sanctuary—a place where life's chaos melted away. The kitchen wasn't just about food; it was a symphony of scents and sounds that brought her peace. Today, the air was fragrant with garlic and herbs as she stirred an improvised stew, the soft hum of jazz playing in the background. Sunlight slanted through the window, painting the countertops in warm gold.

Her knife moved in a rhythmic dance, chopping carrots into perfect slices. But her thoughts were scattered. She barely registered the melody in the air or the gentle bubbling of the pot. Lately, Claire had noticed an odd heaviness lingering around her, a feeling she couldn't quite name.

"Another culinary experiment?"

The familiar voice snapped her back to the present. She didn't need to turn to know it was Leevi, leaning against the doorframe, his silhouette outlined by the light of the hallway. A cigarette hung loosely in his fingers, his trademark smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You could call it that," Claire said, smiling despite herself. She glanced over her shoulder, catching the way the sunlight caught the faint curl of smoke rising from his cigarette. "Are you staying for dinner?"

Leevi shrugged, flicking the cigarette into the ashtray by the door. "Depends. Is it edible this time?"

"Edible?" Claire gasped in mock offense, throwing a slice of carrot at him.

He caught it with ease, his reflexes as sharp as ever. "You wound me, Claire," he teased, his smirk softening into something almost... fond.

For a moment, the easy rhythm of their banter felt like home. They'd always been like this—playful, comfortable, as though they existed in a world that didn't need words to fill the silences. But as Claire turned back to her stew, the faint tension in Leevi's voice lingered.

"How was your day?" she asked, keeping her tone casual.

Leevi hopped onto the counter, his long legs dangling over the edge. "Finished a book. Watched Spider-Man again."

"Let me guess," Claire said, raising an eyebrow. "You're still convinced Spider-Man is the best superhero of all time?"

"Not convinced," he corrected, staring out the window. "I just know it."

His words lacked their usual conviction, and Claire caught the faint shift in his tone. Something felt... off. She turned to him, searching his face for a clue, but Leevi's expression was unreadable—a mask of quiet detachment she hadn't seen before.

"Hey," Claire ventured, her voice softer now, "everything okay?"

Leevi glanced at her, his eyes lingering for a fraction too long. Then he shrugged. "Yeah. Just tired."

The lie was so subtle it might've gone unnoticed by anyone else, but Claire knew Leevi too well. She swallowed the urge to press him further, convincing herself that he'd talk when he was ready. That's how it had always worked between them.

Dinner came together quickly, the kitchen filling with the rich aroma of simmering stew. As they sat down to eat, Claire couldn't help but notice the silence stretching between them—a silence that used to feel comforting now felt heavy, almost oppressive.

"So," she began, trying to lighten the mood, "do I get a five-star review for this masterpiece, or what?"

Leevi looked up from his bowl, his lips quirking into a half-smile. "It's alright."

"Alright?" Claire feigned outrage. "You're lucky I didn't poison your bowl specifically."

Leevi chuckled softly, but the sound didn't reach his eyes. He seemed distracted, lost in a world Claire couldn't see.

After dinner, they drifted to the living room, falling into their usual routine—Claire with a book, Leevi half-watching something on TV. But tonight, the silence was louder than ever. Claire found herself stealing glances at him, hoping to catch a flicker of the Leevi she knew.

Instead, she saw someone miles away.

"Do you ever think about how things change?" Leevi's voice broke the quiet, low and almost wistful.

Claire frowned, lowering her book. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know." He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Like how you can be so close to someone one day, and then... not."

The words hit her like a cold wave. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. What could she say to that?

"Anyway," Leevi muttered, standing abruptly. "I should go. It's late."

"It's barely nine," Claire pointed out, a faint edge to her voice. He'd stayed much later before, sometimes crashing on her couch when their conversations ran past midnight.

But tonight, he was already at the door, pulling on his jacket.

"See you later, Claire."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of cigarettes and something heavier—an ache Claire couldn't shake.

The days that followed were a blur of unanswered texts and half-hearted replies. Leevi's presence, once so steady, now felt like a thread unraveling, slipping further and further from her grasp.

One Friday night, Claire decided she couldn't wait any longer. She cooked his favorite meal, sent him a casual invite.

The reply came hours later:

"Can't tonight. Maybe another day."

Three words. Simple, yet devastating.

Claire sat at the table, the untouched food growing cold in front of her. The kitchen, her sanctuary, felt like a hollow shell. The music she usually loved seemed too loud, the lights too bright.

She realized then what she had been avoiding all along: Leevi was slipping away, and she didn't know how to stop it.